


Cauldron of Love

by noparachute



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Druid Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Peter and Stiles are Mates, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:31:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noparachute/pseuds/noparachute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, have you decided what you will present for the High Quartet?” asked Lydia. At her words, everyone straightened up in their chairs and looked at Stiles. </p><p>“Something that will blow their tiny, grimoire-repressed minds.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cauldron of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wizardheart83 (Plant_Murderer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plant_Murderer/gifts).



> So sorry this is late! I tried to incorporate some of the things that you suggested, and I really hope you enjoy the fic!  
> Happy Holidays :D
> 
> Title from the Harry Potter series because I am an idiot who loves puns.

It was a cozy Sunday morning in December. The room was bathed in a soft glow from flames dancing on a shallow wooden dish. Peter leaned back into his chair, slowly drinking coffee from a mug. Stiles was barely awake, curled up in a chair next to him and chewing on a piece of buttered toast. Neither of them had bothered to change out of their sleepwear -- loose pants and t-shirts, Stiles’ had a ghost dancing in a tub.

A sharp crack sounded and a cloud of purple smoke filled the air above the table, as a voice announced, “Delivery to Druid Stilinski”. Stiles jolted awake just as an ornate envelope landed before him. Peter merely waved his hand to dispel the smoke, going back to his coffee. 

“But it’s Sunday. There’s no post on Sunday,” said Stiles, laughing. 

“Just how long have you waited to make that joke?” 

“Far too long, moon of my life.” 

Peter rolled his eyes, and gestured to the envelope. “Go on, open it.” Stiles sighed and tapped the envelope thrice where it was sealed. It unraveled itself and spat out an embossed card and a tightly rolled sheaf of parchment.

> We are delighted to have Druid Stilinski at the 231st Annual Druidic Conference.  
>  We would like to gently remind Druid Stilinski that an explosion -- accidental or otherwise -- does not qualify as a presentation.  
>  We have also taken the liberty of compiling a list of ingredients and equipment that are forbidden on the sacred grounds. Do ensure that **NONE** of these items are on your person, your belongings and/or on your aide’s person and belongings.  
>  We await your presence on the 23rd of December.  
>  _Blessings of the Mother be with you_ ,  
>  Mary Sue,  
>  As authorized by The High Quartet.  
> 

“May a thousand curses rain down on your bastard face, Deaton,” muttered Stiles, glaring down at the invitation. He tossed the letter towards Peter and proceeded to flop onto the couch with a dramatic groan, landing on their cat. Iago flicked her tail to swat his face, then nuzzled his arm until she could settle down in the perfect position.

Peter glanced down cursorily at the invitation and set it aside. He walked over to the couch, eyes taking in the arch of Stiles back. He ran his fingers through the younger man’s hair, gently massaging his head. He smiled, moving to lower himself onto Stiles, hands trailing down his body. Peter felt him shudder slightly as he placed soft kisses at the nape of his neck. 

Iago hissed at the disruptions and hopped off the couch, walking haughtily out of the room. Stiles let out a soft chuckle and turned to face him. Peter immediately leaned in to kiss him, gently licking and biting his lower lip. He pulled away and smiled sardonically at Stiles. 

“Have you finished throwing your mandatory ‘Deaton is an ass’ pity party?” 

“Just about. Although, I don’t think you’ve finished your mandatory ‘Sex Stiles up’ bit yet.”

“Oh, is that so?” 

Stiles replied by thrusting his hips up and pulling Peter’s face down. Peter huffed, sliding his hand up Stiles’ shirt. 

“Well, if I must,” he whispered against Stiles lips, drawing him into a deep kiss. 

\---

Stiles called for a pack meeting while Peter opened the list of ingredients -- which in Stiles’ opinion “is highly unfair, not to mention inaccurate and insulting...I mean, why the fuck would I bring the hair of a bull - everyone knows that only the tail of a bull is of any use.” 

Peter’s eyebrows reached his hairline as he sees the sheer amount of things that were forbidden. Though at this point, he didn’t see why the committee even bothered; Stiles could wreck havoc with a piece of iron, hibiscus pollen and a ribbon. That poor vampire didn’t quite know what had hit him. Besides, that moment was special, even if Peter had acted like a fool. Love did seem to make fools of them quite often, he mused. 

\---  
_  
“Peter, you absolute dick. You didn’t have to do that,” screamed Stiles, ripping apart the werewolf’s clothes to see where he was wounded._

_He glanced up blearily, blinking to clear his vision. It didn’t remove the white spots, nor did it allow him to check if Stiles was alright. He tried to lift his arm but his body wouldn’t cooperate, instead reminding him of the extent of his injuries._

_“Stay still, I need to heal you,” snapped Stiles, reaching behind for something._

_Peter gasped as the pain intensified, burning through to his very soul. His claws screeched against the ground and he howled. The heat was becoming almost unbearable and then everything stopped. His mind cleared and he pulled himself together._

_“You absolute dick.”_

_Peter turned and saw Stiles kneeling beside him. His hands were resting on his chest, right on top of his heart. They were still shivering with the residual magical power, and the young man looked paler than usual._

_“You already said that.”_

_“Welcome back, asshole,” said Stiles, eyes bright. Peter sat up slowly, taking Stiles’ hands in his, looking straight into his eyes. He inhaled sharply, taking in their intermingled scent, needing the reassurance that they - that Stiles, was alive._

_“You’re wrong. I had to, I had to - or you wouldn’t be next to me,” said Peter, looking down at their hands._

_“And when you’re not watching my back?” asked Stiles, his heart beating faster._

_“I will always have your back, Stiles.” promised Peter, lifting his hand to kiss his mate’s fingers, thumb caressing his palm._  
  
\---

“I can’t believe Deaton registered you for the conference again,” said Lydia, deadpan. 

“I mean, it’s not like he does it every year,” added Derek, crossing his arms. 

“It’s almost as if he knows you want to attend but would never apply on your own,” commented Allison. 

“Not to mention, we always keep our calendar’s free on this specific date, waiting for your impassioned rant about institutionalized magic practices,” finished Isaac. 

“And this year’s winner of ‘Who gets to be Stiles’ glamourous assistant?’ goes to you, Lahey.” Stiles shot back, leaning into Peter’s arms. 

“Oh, fuck no! You swore it would be Boyd this year,” said Erica, pouting while her fiancé looked relieved. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Boyd will pull of the _outfit_ next time.” 

Isaac put his head in his hands and groaned quietly. Scott patted his shoulder, while the others smirked at him. He really should have known better by now. 

“There, there. I’ll make sure to add a scarf to pull the look together,” said Stiles cheerfully. 

Peter just shook his head at all of them and hugged Stiles closer to him. He wanted his mate to be safe, at the same time he couldn’t wait to preen when Stiles undoubtedly crushes his competition. It wasn’t that he didn’t have worthy opponents, Stiles was always a little bit more than them, just a little trickier, just a lot smarter. 

“Are you thinking of how amazing I will be?” asked Stiles, brushing his lips against Peter’s ear. 

“I’m picturing victory sex in the hot tub,” said Peter, turning to dip Stiles and kiss him passionately. 

“Dude, we did _not_ come here to see that,” groaned Scott. 

“I can’t believe you’re still not used to them,” said Isaac. “It’s been five years.”

“And the unsubtle sexual tension for lord knows how many months before that,” said Lydia, inspecting her nails. 

Peter ignored all of them, focusing instead on the way Stiles’ mouth moved against his. They all knew Peter wouldn’t take it any further than this. Exhibitionism was not his cup of tea. Stiles kissed him softly, and he hated how that always made him feel warm, before pulling away to give a lazy smile at the pack. Peter just smirked at them, narrowing his eyes at Danny and Lydia’s knowing looks.

“So, have you decided what you will present for The High Quartet?” asked Lydia. At her words, everyone straightened up in their chairs and looked at Stiles. 

“Something that will blow their tiny, grimoire-repressed minds.” 

\---

Peter closed his eyes and let himself leisurely shift into his wolf form. It had taken an immense amount of patience and forgiveness that had enabled him to complete the full shift. Now, he savoured the moment. He appreciated the twists, contortion and the power behind the transformation. He felt at peace with himself. He lifted his head up and howled at the moon. 

\---

Peter walked down to their basement, refreshed from his run. Stiles had been in his lab when he had left and he was still there, three hours later. He wasn’t too worried -- Stiles had a new project and if he went overboard, Iago would signal for him. As he drew closer, the spicy scent of magic increased along with the superlative notes of Stiles. Peter had become accustomed to the chemical smells of potion-making. He smirked as he remembered his nephew’s first reaction to them. _Ah, good times._ “Stiles, time for dinner,” he called out as he entered the room. 

His mate was standing in the corner of the room, peering over an iron cauldron, fingers playing with the smoke. Peter was pleased to see that he had remembered to wear his protective gear even if he had eschewed his goggles. The cat was situated near the cauldron’s fire. 

The marble-top counters were scattered with various ingredients, arrayed in a manner that he would deem chaotic. But Stiles always knew where everything was and they would all go back to their appropriate places once his work was complete. Knowing that things would go back to their proper place did help with his OCD tendencies.

The shelves against the wall were filled with various containers in separate racks for Stiles’s orders, ingredients and the pack’s necessities. It amused Peter that Deaton’s requests were never on the shelves -- they were always relegated to the last minute. Stiles had quite the reputation in the supernatural world. He didn’t maintain a shop, so all requests for potions had to be sent to their home. He refused to take help from the pack or hire anyone to assist him, intensely private about his magic and his methods. It was one of the few traits he shared with the rest of the druidic community. 

However with Stiles’ tendency to concoct even the most outlandish requests and his unwillingness to turn away anyone in need, he had spent every waking moment in his lab. He was exhausting himself and when Peter tried to help, well...the make-up sex was intense. Thankfully, Lydia had intervened and provided him with an intricate scheduling system while Scott had handled his emotions. 

It was in Peter’s nature to manipulate and tailor every situation for his best interests. Over the course of time and their relationship, he had learned to incorporate Stiles and consequently, the pack in his plotting. People often wondered how they had stayed together for so long. The truth was, as ridiculously cheesy it sounded, it was because they knew exactly what the other was capable of.

It was that understanding of each other that had slowly grown into respect, admiration, loyalty and friendship. In a way, the component of love in their relationship hadn’t been a surprise -- it had been brewing for a long time, just waiting for them to acknowledge it. 

Stiles looked up and gave Peter a dazzling smile, gesturing him to come closer. He took his sweet time to reach the cauldron, enjoying his half-amused, half-frustrated expressions. 

“Well, it’s certainly attractive,” commented Peter, turning his nose up at the truly malevolent shade of orange. 

“Really, that’s all you have to say?” asked Stiles, stirring the potion. 

“I’m sure you’ll tell me everything I need to know, and no doubt more,” replied Peter, continuing quickly before he could speak, “Over dinner.”

“You just don’t want to bask in my brilliance,” he said, even as he was placing the potion in stasis. 

“I just don’t think you’ll appreciate missing dinner at your father’s place. I’m being a conscientious mate.”

“And as my conscientious mate, I feel it is your duty to piggyback me to the bedroom,” countered Stiles, batting his eyelashes. 

“Too bad,” said Peter, picking up their cat and dropping her on his shoulders. “Iago has already claimed me as her trusty steed.” The sharp claws digging into his skin made him rethink his decision and from the look on Stiles’ face, he knew it. 

“How the mighty have fallen,” grinned Stiles, wrapping an arm around Peter’s waist. He kissed the corner of his mouth softly, leading them out of his lab. 

\---

Excerpts from Stiles’ Top Secret Druid Notes:

**Day 0**  
No idea how to start the potion. Yet. Peter’s blowjob does not inspire druidic process, but is magical all the same. 

**Day 3**  
Have attempted to create the base of the potions.  
Yes, potions.  
The Fantastic Four, I might call them. In honour of the High Quartet. 

**Day 6**  
Note to self: When something is named ‘Baneberry’, it will probably not be helpful in anything other than an evil potion.  
Progress made in creation of base. It is now pale yellow and does not smell like cat poop. 

**Day 10**  
Have accidentally made a cream that removes pimples instantly.  
Record Log  
Aim: _Base for The Fantastic Four_  
Ingredients: _Honeysuckle, Billywig sting, Butterfly Weed_  
Equipment: _Standard druid tools, cat_  
Method:  
_*Place iron cauldron on open fire_  
_*Fill one-fourth with water_  
_*Add three cups of crushed Honeysuckle petals_  
_*Pour a vial of Billywig sting slime_  
_*Stir three times clockwise and four times anti-clockwise_  
_*Add five drops of Butterfly Weed nectar, stirring clockwise between each drop_  
_*An unexpected cat appears_  
Observation: _Cat knocks potion onto herself before it can be completed. Upon inspection for injuries, notice that cluster of pimples near her mouth have disappeared. Further testing with incomplete potion provides same results._  
Conclusion: _Succeeded in creating Insta-Pimple Remover, failed original aim. (Cat extremely pleased with herself.)_

 **Day 16**  
Minor explosion in the lab on Day 13. Peter not impressed. Refused to let me leave the bed for two days. And only half of yesterday was Stiles and Peter sexytimes.  
5 days left for the Conference.  
Crunch time. 

**Day 18**  
Dear smart person who manages to charm my book open, here’s my advice for you:  
When a one-eyed leprechaun promises that you will be safe, you definitely will not be.  
Don’t make potions when you are sleep deprived and running on a mix of caffeine and chocolate. You will regret it. 

**Day 19**  
The pieces of the potions are falling into place. Literally.  
Multiple portions of the final version of the base have been prepared.  
Have spent the day walking all over the lab, adding ingredients to each of the base portions.  
Peter might be coerced into massaging my feet. Still have those coupons to cash if he refuses.  
Reminder: Potion 3 needs to rest under the moonlight to reach full potency. 

**Day 21**  
The Fantastic Four are finally fucking done.  
Checklist:  
*Pack all the ingredients separately.  
*Take the iron cauldron  
*Standard Druid Equipment  
*Pack the first aid kit  
*Extra supply of peanut m &ms  
*Drop Iago off to dad 

\---

The three weeks leading up to the Conference were rather tedious. Stiles had immediately begun working on his potions whose utility he had only slyly hinted at. Unfortunately, this meant that Peter was left to his own devices for the time. While he didn’t have a job in the traditional sense of the word, he did offer his expertise on occasion. He assisted the Beacon Hills Police Department with their supernatural cases -- off the books, of course. He also did a fair amount of freelance writing for the werewolf blog run by Danny. 

But there had been no crimes recently and he didn’t have anything interesting to write. So Peter did what he he did best -- manipulation. _Technically_ , it was for Stiles’ gain. The pack had an ongoing bet on when Scott and Allison would include Isaac in their relationship. He was just doing his part as a conscientious mate, ensuring that Stiles won the pool. Certainly not because Isaac’s pining had been bordering on annoying lately.

He started small -- he didn’t want to spook Isaac. Whenever they were in the same room, he inserted phrases like ‘Three’s a charm’, ‘The Three Musketeers’ and on one memorable occasion, ‘Three Little Pigs’, into the conversation. Next, when they were watching movies, he pointed out how the ridiculous love triangles could be avoided if they just opened their minds a little. He even hacked Isaac’s Netflix queue to add movies with polyamory. Truly some of his best work, if somewhat a waste of intellect. He did make sure that Lydia wasn’t in the room when he made his ‘suggestions’. She would’ve called him out instantly, and he didn’t want to lose his boredom-relief. 

However, his plans were interrupted when the house shuddered from an explosion in the basement. He shot down, leaving Derek mid-sentence, only breathing normally after Stiles was in his arms. _Of course_ he hadn’t worn his protective gear. He was lucky Peter didn’t call his father and only confined him to the bed. Peter had to resort to handjobs to keep him there until he was fully healed. 

The next few days were spent making sure that Stiles didn’t kill himself in the basement. This was accomplished mostly by seating himself in the corner of the lab and coughing if the cauldron made suspicious noises. Meanwhile, the pack was coordinating their stay at the Conference -- Danny, arranging for backup should they need it -- Scott, and checking if they had enough weapons in their arsenal -- Allison. 

The Druidic Conference had a unique method of transportation for the druids and their guests, which thankfully was optional. It was frowned upon not to accept the hospitality extended, but that only pushed Stiles to actively avoid it. Instead, the pack would travel in a private jet. The fact that Stiles knew someone who owed them a favour and happened to own a jet that was readily available for use seemed altogether too coincidental. But this way everyone could travel together, avoiding separation anxiety and awkward conversations about money. 

Peter admired Stiles’ subtle methods of manipulation a little too much. He spent most of the plane ride whispering dirty fantasies of sex in the woods. It also served to distract Stiles from thoughts of the Conference. A win-win situation for them all really. 

\--- 

Stiles pressed a quick kiss against Peter’s mouth, then hurried away with Lydia and Danny to do a final check of his material. The contestants had to handover all material for testing the day before the Conference. The organizers did a _very_ thorough inspection and he knew Stiles wouldn’t want to be disqualified for something silly like a forbidden ingredient. 

“I don’t actually have to wear this, do I?” asked Isaac, having discovered his aide’s costume. He stared in horror at the flimsy, shiny outfit. It was bright red with sequins and tassels hanging from the fringe. It had a _fringe_. 

“Bro, you didn’t have to get me my Christmas present so soon!” grinned Scott, feeling vindicated for all of Isaac’s comments the year before. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” muttered Stiles, throwing him a green scarf -- well, calling it a scarf was a stretch -- and went back to reviewing his ingredients. 

“This just looks like a Sexy Christmas Elf costume,” sighed Isaac, “You could’ve at least chosen a better colour scheme.” 

“Stiles left the creative direction in Erica’s hands and she has gone far beyond my wildest dreams. She deserves a medal, truly,” said Peter, always one to rejoice at the aftermath of his partner’s schemes.

\---

Despite Stiles’ disdain for the impracticality of The High Quartet, Peter had to admit that these people really knew how to run a conference -- especially one of this magnitude. Druids from all over the world were invited to display their talent, although only a precious few would be chosen for the Presentation. The scene in front of him looked like a bizarre version of beer pong -- rows and rows of cauldrons, each equipped with a table and the druid’s ingredients. Stiles waved to Peter from his station while Isaac tried to make himself invisible. 

An eery silence settled across the forest clearing, raising the hairs on his forearms. The wolf was on edge with all the foreign magic at play. The platform at the centre of the land shimmered as the druids known as The High Quartet appeared -- two women and two men, clad in red velvet robes. 

“Welcome to the 231st Annual Druidic Conference,” said Druid Granark, the heir of the Granark clan who were among the first druids that had participated in the Conference. 

“We are proud to play host to the druids - both young and old - who have arrived to test their mettle against their equals in a just battlefield,” continued Druid Silvestra, the only High Druid whom Stiles respected.

“May the Blessings of the Mother be with you,” said Druid Tralfer in a nasal tone, gazing with squinty eyes at the druids. 

“And may you prove to be worthy of her Blessings,” concluded Druid Lafyre, before lighting the ceremonial fire pit. 

At the signal, the druids flew into motion, lighting their fires and unpacking their ingredients. Each druid and their aide were enclosed by an invisible shield, both to protect them and to prevent potion tampering. They didn’t have a time limit, but the time taken was considered directly proportional to their competence. The pack drifted in pairs among the druids, staying in strategic locations. It was just a precaution -- they hadn’t had any problems as of late, but experience had taught them to be prepared for everything. 

Peter set up camp near Stiles, radiating an air of menace. His eyes catalogued every person in their vicinity, assessing their threat levels while keeping an ear out for trouble. He also kept an eye on Stiles, between his sweeps of the clearing. He stared at his mate’s easy, confident stance as he directed Isaac to hand him what he needed. Peter’s breath caught as he watched him twirl his knives. The sight of a kid peering in awe at him did dim his arousal, although the saucy wink that Stiles threw his way did not help. 

All around them, potions were bubbling -- some spitting out the contents at the druids. Their small screams of pain were terribly satisfying for _he_ had the good sense to give his druid protective gear. He smirked when he saw Scott and Allison circle back to Stiles’s station to ogle his scantily dressed aide. Poor Isaac, his blush really wasn’t helping. Stiles seemed to have finished the base of his potions. Nobody knew what he was making except Peter. Stiles had been a tad enthusiastic when he had finished creating the potions, insisting that they had to test it out immediately. 

\---

Only twenty druids were selected for the Presentation. Each High Druid had a selection team of seven druids who in turn had three apprentices. They were all instructed on the preferences and requirements of their respective druid. Peter had heard rumours that the team was briefed for six months prior to the Conference and it was considered a great honour to be a lackey to the Quartet. 

Stiles had instantly zoned into the quiet girl who was standing at the corner, away from the posturing druids. Always reaching out for the underdog, his mate. She didn’t look harmful but Scott sidled a bit closer to them. Peter tuned out the long ‘Founders of the Conference’ speech while Stiles was making silly faces at his new friend who already looked a little less lost-at-sea. 

Lydia snorted and came up to Peter, giving him the ‘why do we love this ridiculous person’ look. The rest of the pack moved closer, waiting to cheer for Stiles and essentially do the embarrassing supportive family bit. 

“And now, we begin the Presentation with Druid Castwell...”

\---

“...that’s why I think this Super Strength potion would be a gift to all of us...”

“Super strength is so last year,” muttered Derek, waspishly. 

\---

“I would like a volunteer to demonstrate how this potion dissipates the molecules of a physical being...”

The silence was deafening. 

\---

“This potion can help you find exactly what you are researching in any type of book, and can be applied over a wide variety of books…” said Druid Yukimura, the girl who Stiles was talking to. 

“Hmm. I know Stiles was never able to perfect that one,” said Lydia, eyeing the druid with barely concealed interest. 

\--- 

Following two druids who had burned their arms and a druid who had somehow electrocuted himself was Stiles. He turned to wink at Peter and mimed a complicated fist-bump/handshake routine with Scott before walking briskly to the stage with his vials of potions. 

“May the Blessings of the Mother be with you,” intoned Druid Granark. 

“And may She never part from us,” responded Stiles, bowing. 

“Druid Stilinski, it is certainly delightful to have you Presenting for us again,” said Silvestra, eyes twinkling. 

“Indeed, it is. And you will notice the significant lack of explosions, Madame Druid,” grinned Stiles. 

“We are immensely thankful for Druid Stilinski’s restraint, but might we carry on with the Presentation?” snapped Tralfer, glaring at Stiles. 

Stiles merely looked at him with a blank expression. Peter recognized that face -- it was his ‘must not laugh out loud’ look. He was no doubt recollecting the time he had _accidentally_ doused the druid in a bright green potion. That wouldn’t wash off for the rest of the day. And emitted a faint scent of rotten onions. The man couldn’t even blame Stiles; he’d been the one who had stuck his finger in the potion despite being warned not to. 

“Of course, Druid Talfer. We wouldn’t want to disappoint you, after all,” said Stiles, handing each druid with a parchment detailing the ingredients and the method he had used to make the potion. As soon as the druids touched the paper, they were bound by a magical contract. They couldn’t speak about the potion, nor could they recreate it. Further, the parchments were burned in the ceremonial fire after the Presentation. 

“For this year’s Conference, I would like to Present before you, The Fantastic _Four_ ,” began Stiles, looking positively wicked, “I give you lubricants made specifically for werewolves, vampires, kitsunes and centaurs.”

“I created a base lubricant potion and then modified the components for each magical species. The lubricant will enhance their sexual experience, and will not leave behind any residue, nor does it have any side-effects. I have also taken the liberty to ensure that it cannot be used without consent of all parties involved.”

The crowd began murmuring excitedly -- sex magic wasn’t spoken of in the open, most druids going so far as to dismiss the idea. Everyone knew it existed and Stiles had just broken the unspoken rule in the best way possible. The Quartet could not deny the knowledge, especially since they were the ones who had selected him for the Presentation. 

“I would have been able to create more variations of the lubricant -- don’t want you to think I’m being species-ist,” added Stiles, looking at the audience.

“But I was unable to do so as certain ingredients were banned. Anyone wishing to purchase a lubricant attuned to your nature, feel free to place orders with the lovely Ms Lydia Martin. I can personally guarantee that are a treat to the bedroom,” He paused, “Or the couch, the door, the kitchen- ”

“I think you’ve said quite enough, Druid Stilinski,” Lafyre nearly shouted, her face purple with rage, as the audience hooted in amusement. The pack just looked resigned at Stiles’ while Peter emanated smug pride. 

“If you are content with my Presentation...” prompted Stiles, knowing they had no grounds to disqualify him. Moreover, his spiel about the lubricants directed the audience away from the extent of magical theory and processes involved in their creation. Stiles was subtle about his expertise, knowing that the parchment alone proved his competence and mastery of his druidic talent.

“The High Quartet deems your Presentation worthy,” said Granark, albeit grudgingly and with gritted teeth. 

\--- 

“It is time to announce the Druid Superior of the 231st Annual Druidic Conference,” said Granark, gesturing to Silvestra. 

“We have had some brilliant Presentations this year, but only one druid can be named as Druid Superior. The druid has far surpassed the expected levels of magical theory and complexity for one so small in years. It is my honour to name Druid Stilinski as the 231st Druid Superior.” said Silvestra, as Stiles emerged from behind the curtains. 

“The blessings of the Mother lie within you, Child. You carry her gifts well,” she said, tapping her palm against his forehead in a symbolic gesture. The crowd cheered wildly, calling out Stiles’ name as a chant. The werewolves in the pack howled raucously, while the others whistled and screamed their congratulations. 

“As is tradition, the Druid Superior may take one of the druids who Presented as an apprentice, although Druid Stilinski-” said Tralver, surely about to comment on the former’s disobedience of druidic practices. 

“Druid Stilinski would be honoured if Druid Yukimura accepted to be his apprentice,” completed Stiles, producing a golden ladle to prove his sincerity as a mentor. The druid in question walked slowly up to the stage and bowed in front of Stiles. 

“I accept Druid Stilinski as my mentor,” she said quietly, taking the ladle from him, eyes wide but standing confidently beside Stiles.

\--- 

After what seemed like an eternity, Stiles finally resurfaced from the Quartet’s cabin, walking towards them with Druid Yukimura in tow. Peter’s lips curled up in a wide smile, hoisting Stiles up in an embrace. 

“My lovely spark of chaos,” said Peter, kissing him softly, “Proud of you, Stiles.”

“Way to go, dude!” said Scott, pushing through the pack to pound Stiles on the back. 

“When can I get my personalized lube, Stilinski?” asked Erica, poking his cheek.

“You’ve already received 137 orders for lubricant, Stiles,” said Lydia, “You had better make good use of your new apprentice.”

“Oh! Kira, so sorry I’ve left you to the wolves,” started Stiles, only to be met with pained groans at this oft-repeated pun. 

“Someone has to educate her about your brand of crazy, Stiles. I’ve got that covered,” said Allison, from where they were sitting and talking. Kira waved shyly, still looking a bit awkward. She clutched the ladle carefully, seeming to need the reassurance that this was all real. 

“You wound me, fair lady,” replied Stiles, laughing and swooning into Peter’s arms, “Save me, my trusty knight. Take me away from these knaves!” 

“As you wish, Druid Superior,” smirked Peter, licking along Stiles’ jaw line and carrying him to their rented car. Stiles raised his fists in triumph, waving at the whooping pack. Boyd threw a vial of the werewolf lube at them and Stiles caught it, yelling out “Fuck yeah, victory sex!”

Peter lowered Stiles into the car, signalling the driver to head to the hotel and then closing the partition. Stiles gave him a sultry look, sprawled out on the spacious back seat. Peter couldn’t fathom how lucky he was, trailing a heat-laden gaze from Stiles’ flushed face to his lithe body and his strained pants. 

“You were absolutely magnificent,” he said, taking his hand and pressing a kiss against his wrist. He inhaled his scent, growling quietly at the heady aroma of arousal. Stiles sucked in a quick breath, eyes gleaming at Peter’s praise. 

“I could smell how much everyone wanted you,” said Peter, running his hands up Stiles’ thighs, stroking those secret places that only he knew, “Some of them had downright filthy things to say about you, of what they would do to you once they had you.”

“They can’t touch you though, they will never get as close to you as I am now,” he continued, palming Stiles’ cock through his pants, smiling as he felt it move at his touch. 

“Only you,” said Stiles, threading his fingers through Peter’s hair, caressing the back of his neck, “Always yours.”

“ _Stiles..._ ” sighed Peter, sinking into the luxurious feeling of his mate’s touch. 

“You’re mine too, Peter,” said Stiles, voice dark with desire, tugging his hair, wrenching out a low moan from the werewolf. 

“As if there was any doubt about that,” he replied, looking up at Stiles, a private smiles playing across his lips. 

Peter stretched up to kiss Stiles, revelling in the taste of his mate. He closed his eyes, kissing him harder, slipping his tongue into his mouth. Stiles moaned, wrapping his hands around Peter, pulling him up and against him. He let himself drown in the sensations of Stiles, of his heartbeat racing, his body singing with pleasure, forgetting the world around them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Teen Wolf fic, I hope I did the characters justice. Constructive criticism is much appreciated, as are comments in general. My tumblr is [here](https://freefallintofandom.tumblr.com). I have no fandom friends and way too many headcanons, so...uh, come hang out with me please?


End file.
